


wayfaring

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: i think i may write more of whatever this is, not focused on a canon HP character, this is just practice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-16 06:08:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11822790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The teachers know who he is and they don't talk to him, as though he is a part of the castle. An element to it, something they mustn't ever question.





	wayfaring

The halls are filled with him. Equally empty and occupied at the same time.

He is a ghost. Air. A wandering body through a sea of scattered students and everything passes him with a sort of worped light. He hears the voices and talks, abrupt and cut off as they pass him and into another class.

He stays behind. Glued to the walls. He observes them pass, go. Back and fourth, right and left.

Most of them carry books to their sides, wands in there other hand.

The teachers know who he is and they don't talk to him, as though he is a part of the castle. An element to it, something they mustn't ever question. Just let be. Dumbledore insists on it. So he becomes the oxygen and blurs into the walls, his head is thick enough to cause notice though.

The new students ask. Curious, they are. Seeing this boy sit and wander and stare and sometimes he goes into places students can't ever go and the teachers let him. He doesn't have a wand. Is he even a wizard? He looks like a muggle. Dress shirt half tucked into his pants, leathery-ish. They catch the light. His hair is always in place and he looks out of place.

No one knows where he sleeps. Or if he even sleeps at all.

He is a part of Hogwarts. Inextricable. A crucial limb to it's being. He comes with the moving paintings and floating candles. He comes with the spells and potions. With the magic.

There are whispers. Late at night. He can hear them through the walls. Clear and unquestionable.

_I heard he was magic itself. Immortal, he is. Never grows. Reckon it stemmed from him. The magic._

 

**__________________________________**

 

He doesn't speak. Only to one but that one never seems to be around and he's always left alone.

No one bothers with him, no one dares. Dumbledore tells him things and he won't bother listening. The days only darken and stretch and walking the halls are getting boring. Tedious. His body aches for something he can't explain and it's worrying.

He lifts up a book from the floor. Dumbledore watches him do it, silent, without a wand. Without hand movement.

Just his mind. His will.

He goes outside and watches the sun fall. 


End file.
